Toronto 2000 AD
by WildWelshWitch
Summary: A hit to the head finds Murdoch waking in a world he doesn't recognise. Really, I think you glean everything from the title. Please Read & Review!
1. An Unfamiliar Place

_**Disclaimer:**__ Murdoch Mysteries is the property of Maureen Jennings, YTV and ITV, so anything you recognise in this story, it's likely I don't own it._

_Ta._

* * *

His head ached, that was what brought him back from the darkness, it didn't just ache, it hurt quite a bit…like toothache but at the very back of his head. He also noticed that the light was very bright and he screwed up his eyes against it, willing his brain to recall any events that might have led to this pain in his head.

He'd been out on the street, he and George and Higgins had been on the trail of a serial murderer and he'd gone ahead, around the corner and…

…the memory stopped there.

A complete blank

He took a deep breath, getting a whiff of disinfectant and an odd oily scent, and let it out slowly, his mind now picking up sounds…beeping, feet shuffling, the slight buzz of low voices and the rattling of wheels.

Carefully, wincing against the bright lights, he opened his eyes and found himself staring at a ceiling made of off-white tiles, a slight turn of his aching head found him staring at unfamiliar machinery and an unfamiliar room.

Now panicking he tried to sit upright but found himself held back by a hand

"That's not a good idea, Will" a familiar voice to his left said, "the doctor's said you're supposed to lie still"

Not knowing what else to do, he lay back down and turned slightly in the direction of the voice.

"George" he croaked out and blinked, not quite believing what he saw.

It was George Crabtree alright, but he looked…different. Instead of being slicked neatly back, George's hair was styled into soft spikes, making him look more boyish than usual.

His clothing too was different. Instead of his normal uniform, he was wearing dark blue pants and a shirt in a peculiar light green shade (that surely must have cost him more than a week's wage, no one of George's salary could possibly afford something in that colour).

William blinked again, but no the picture before him hadn't changed. George still sat there, with that odd hairstyle in those odd clothes. Was this some sort of dream?

"What happened?" he asked, finally deciding that he needed answers, "Where am I?"

"In hospital," George answered, "one of them hit you on the back of the head, you got as far as the car and then you passed out, so Higgins and I brought here quick as we could"

There was a word in there that he didn't recognise, but at the moment he couldn't think what it was…it was easier just to let the world go blurry for awhile, then next thing he remembered was vague voices, one he assumed was George and one he didn't recognise, before being bundled and strapped into a carriage, only vaguely aware of snippets of conversation as street lights went past faster than usual, he wondered what medicine he'd been given

"…_I should call…"_

"…_only worry her, might be nothing…"_

"…_Sophie, at least…"_

"…_got his keys? I'll get him some clothes for tomorrow"_

"…_on the sofa."_

There was more walking, a light and softness, someone put a mug of tea in his hands and he drank it, barely aware of the taste.

This was, it had to be said, a strange dream, if it was that at all, he let everything swim around him, a jangling of keys, a door shutting, a door opening and closing, he sincerely hoped this was just a dream…please let it just be a strange dream

"Will?" a female voice cut into the fog of his mind, "are you OK?"

He blinked, the fog lifting briefly…the woman standing in front of him he knew…another familiar face

"Miss Whittering?"

Annabelle's hair (a shade or two darker than Brackenreid's) like George's, was also styled differently. It had been cut short, almost like a boy's but definitely a feminine style, nothing like the tight braided hairstyle he knew she always wore during daylight hours. The lighting was too dim for him to make out her clothes, or was that just the stupor from the medication?

"…Right…" she blinked and handed him a bundle before continuing, "I brought you some pyjamas from your place, and some clothes for tomorrow. Tonight you're sleeping on the sofa here, the doctor told us to keep an eye on you."

"I could not intrude on you like that…it would be bad for your reputation…not to mention, The Inspector would have my head if word should get out." He didn't know if this was Annabelle's dwelling, but he knew how protective Inspector Brackenreid was of his niece, he would not be impressed if he found out that William had spent the night in even the same vicinity as her.

"It's no problem, you've done it before" George's voice said, before he appeared over Annabelle's shoulder, "oh the stories this sofa could tell!"

Oh, so this must be George's dwelling. That made much more sense. Then his staying here for the duration of the night was well and good, though he was quite certain he had never stayed at George's residence before. Once again, he put this down to mishearing due to the medication.

As if on automatic, William got changed, seeing nothing of his surroundings, save to note that the fabric of his sleeping clothes was much softer than he remembered them to be

And then there was darkness, he welcomed it with open arms and let it envelope him and he lay down on the afore-mentioned sofa.

Oblivion, he decided, was a good thing.

_TBC_

* * *

_**Author's Note:**__ I want to thank my friend Sarah for letting me bounce my ideas off her head, also for helping me work out the plot line for this story and for letting me borrow her OC for the rest of the story._


	2. A Dream within a Dream

_**Author's Note:** this one kept growing on me but enjoy anyway_

_**Disclaimer:** Murdoch Mysteries belongs to Marueen Jennings, CityTV and ITV, so if you recognise it, I probably don't own it._

_

* * *

_

Rain in the guttering…he found that sound to be soothing, if a bit distorted, there must be something wrong with the roof because it sounded almost as if it were raining inside, he must tell Mrs Kitchen about it…much later.

He buried himself further into his bed and wrapped his blankets more tightly around himself, unwilling to give up sleep in favour of the waking world, not when the world of sleep was much warmer and comfortable at this present time.

"_**Wake up it's a beautiful morning! Feel the sun shining for your eyes! Wake up; it's so beautiful! For what could be the very last time!"**_

He fell off the bed and hit the floor with a thud, heart hammering in his chest from the fright.

What the blazes was that?

"…_**So wake up, Boo! There's so many things for us to do! It's early so take your time, don't let me rush you please. I know I was up all night; I can do anything, anything, anything!"**_

"_That was The Boo Radley's and Wake up Boo. I wish it was a beautiful morning, you know"_ a male voice he didn't recognise spoke up

Who was talking?

"…_I nearly got soaked on the way in this morning. It's raining cats and dogs out there" _a female voice squeaked in mock-affront before being soothed by yet another male voice.

Yet the voices seemed odd…as if they were coming from a long distance away.

William looked around…this was not his room at Mrs Kitchen's. This did not even vaguely resemble anywhere he knew.

He knew it must be a sitting room due to the sofa he had apparently been asleep on, but it was not in any style that he recognised. The room was off-white and filled with items he could not name, save for the very small-framed portraits scattered around the place. He briefly wondered where George had found the money to have so many strewn around, (possibly the same place he had found money for his green coloured shirt) but everything was pushed aside as the scent of cooking caught his attention and his stomach gurgled.

When had he last eaten?

He was disturbed to find that he could not remember either when or what he eaten last.

Since he did not seem to be restricted to this room, he followed the cooking smell, (and the oddly distant voices) whilst rather enjoying the feeling of carpet under his bare feet, as opposed to the rough wooden floors at Mrs Kitchen's.

He stopped when he found himself in a room, much smaller than the living room, a large window let in a lot of the early morning light, his attention fell to the battered wooden desk, upon which an overlarge sketchbook was laid out, covered in swatches of material and…. More portraits?

Very carefully, William examined them.

They were of himself, in his normal dress…another of George…Yet another of himself, George, Inspector Brackenreid. They all had notes written in pencil

_William Murdoch. Detective. circa 1895_

_George Crabtree. Constable. circa 1895_

_Detective William Murdoch, Constable George Crabtree, Inspector Thomas Brackenreid. Group shot. Station Four, Toronto. circa 1895_

He put the photos down and looked at the sketchbook. The pages were covered in drawings of the uniforms the constables wore and even his own suit, all of them had notes beside them, he could not decipher them as they appeared to be in a short hand he did not recognise (though the signature at the bottom of each page was quite clearly 'Annabelle Whittering')

His heart began to pound as he began to panic once more.

What did this mean?

Where was he?

What was happening?

…there was another photo sticking out from between the pages of the sketchbook, which he picked up carefully, though every primal part of him was screaming at him to leave it alone, to just run and forget what he had seen in this room, the part of him that was a detective wanted to know.

_Sean O'Riley. Irish. Protestant. Serial Murder Suspect. Circa 1895. _

This…this was important¡

Why was this in here?

He needed to ask George this, needed to know why George had photos and drawings, amongst the other things he needed to ask him about.

This in mind, he turned back to the door…and almost jumped out of his skin when he saw the headless body propped up, but a second, more thorough glance revealed it was only a dressmaker's dummy…for some reason a large pair of scissors had been jammed into the chest.

…it was strangely similar to something he'd seen before.

Where?

"_Pierced the heart, he would have stood no chance of survival"_

"_What weapon could have caused a wound this large?"_

That was it!

He needed to find George and get to Station 4 right away!

A sudden feeling of dizziness made him cling to the nearest wall for a few moments until it receded.

Perhaps it wasn't important to go to the station right this very minute, he decided, it may be wiser to first have some breakfast, it would certainly quiet down the constant gurgling of his stomach

Cautiously, he made his way out of the room and once more towards the scent of cooking food until he reached a door that was ajar, here was where the voices and the scent of toast were coming from.

Without preamble he opened the door…and almost died of heart failure.

"Oh my!" he gasped, as quietly as he could, feeling more than a little scandalised, for, in front of him, were George and Annabelle, both dressed in what he could only assume were undergarments, and locked in a tight embrace, (there was some decidedly impolite kissing going on between the pair of them)

Apparently he hadn't been as quiet as he thought, as the courting pair simultaneously turned to look at him

"Morning" George greeted in a friendly way, seemingly unperturbed and unashamed at being caught in such a position, and did not release his grip on Annabelle's waist

"Do you want some toast? There's tea made" Annabelle added, gesturing with her free hand towards a white teapot sitting on the countertop, only the slightest blush gracing her face, but neither did she let go of George.

William realised his mouth was hanging open and he closed it, swallowing a few times to lubricate a throat that felt as dry as sandpaper.

"Miss Whittering," he began, "does your uncle know that you spent the night in George's dwelling?"

"Yes" Annabelle nodded, giving him an odd look, and whilst she did move away from George, it was only enough to allow her to pour some tea into a cup, "I should think so. Considering he helped me move in. He wasn't happy about it but he's had 8 months to get used to it"

"You two are now married?" he asked, scanning Annabelle's hand for any sign of a wedding ring as she handed him the cup of tea, but she didn't appear to be wearing one at the moment

"No" was the reply, and he saw George making frantic gestures that clearly meant 'cut it out' behind his sweetheart's back.

William was appalled and very nearly dropped his teacup, "How on earth do you two avoid scandal?"

"We…" Annabelle began, looking at George and gesturing helplessly when she apparently could not find the words to finish her sentence

"We…have…separate rooms" George finished slowly, "Anna living here makes Tom feel better about her living in the city, knowing there's someone to protec her all the time."

"Oh…well, that…seems to make sense. If…the Inspector is quite alright with the arrangement, despite his misgivings…" though it was odd that George would ever dare to speak of Brackenreid in such a casual manner. To steady his rapidly fraying nerves, he took a long drink of the tea Annabelle had served him; it at least was the way that he liked it.

"Miss Whittering, if I may ask," he said, feeling much better, if still a little off balance, afterwards, "What is the purpose of the photographs and sketches on your desk?"

"Well, Mr Murdoch, if I may ask you something in return: what are you talking about? And why were you in my work room?"

"I lost my way," he replied honestly, "Please, allow me to show you"

He did not see the pair of sweethearts share a worried glance.

* * *

"Are you one hundred percent positive the doc's said there wasn't any brain damage?" Anna asked as they watched Will walk back towards her work room

"Positive. They said he was lucky it only knocked him out. No swelling, no actual apparent damage, all they said was to watch him and give him the painkillers if he needs it" George answered, but bit his lip in a worried way as they began to follow his workmate and friend.

…

"What kind of painkillers are they?"

It was strange to see William looking around her workroom, looking panicked as if he'd lost something.

"Will," George asked, trying to sound calm, "Are you feeling alright today?"

* * *

"The photographs" William said, desperately rummaging through Annabelle's sketchbook, "they were here, on the desk. With the sketches of our clothing!"

There was no sign of either the photographs nor the sketches. How had they simply vanished?

"Hey! Don't be so rough with my book! I need that! Don't rip any of those!"

"Will! Come on, put that down." George said in a soothing tone, putting his hands on his shoulders, gently but firmly forcing him to put the sketchbook back down on the desk, "Calm down"

"The photographs, George. They're no longer here!" William said, gesturing almost frantically, towards the desk, "they were important. Why did Miss Whittering have them?" he paused and looked to the corner, where he had seen the dressmaker's dummy.

"The dummy…" he continued, "there was a large scissors jammed into its chest" he was surprised to see that said dummy was unbroken and the scissors hung onto a hook in the wall. All was unchaotic…how could that be?

"Not when that cost me $75," he just about heard Annabelle mutter.

"Are you sure you weren't dreaming?" the younger man asked him, "Anna isn't working on any police dramas right now."

"Dreaming?" he looked back at the sketchbook on the desk, true enough, there were no sketches of his and George's clothing. Only some dress he could describe as 'fanciful and feminine' (it was white, loose and had wings, bound tightly in what was supposedly red ribbon protruding from the back)

"Yeah, I've heard taking a cosh to the head will give you weird dreams at the best of times"

"Yes…You are probably right," he let himself be led out of the work room and be sat upon the sofa he had slept on last night, someone gave him back the cup of tea he had put down a few moments ago

"Maybe I should call my uncle and tell him you're not coming in today?" Annabelle suggested slowly

"No! No I cannot miss today. I have information that may lead to an arrest!"

"If you're sure you're feeling well enough" George finished, with a helpless shrug at his sweetheart, "but take it easy today, OK?"

* * *

William did not remember getting changed from his nightclothes, did not remember finishing his tea nor eating toast, though he remembered the taste of both; if he thought hard, he could recall snippets of a conversation that made no sense.

"…_I tried her flat, but she's already gone"_

"_Will you text her? We need to get going…"_

"_Call me if something happens…"_

And though he vaguely remembered softness and the sound of wind rushing past, it was as if he had simply blinked and found himself in a place that…should have been familiar, he supposed. That scent of wood, varnish and old iron could only belong to station 4.

When his full consciousness returned, he found himself alone at a strange sort of desk, an odd box with a glass panel displaying some sort of picture, a blue background and a grey box.

_Please Log In_

_Click OK to Begin_

Curiously, he tapped the contraption; only the _'tink tink'_ sound one gets when one taps glass happened.

Whatever it was, it seemed to be broken.

Perplexed, he sat back, barely taking note of his chair, this was not the chair he remembered…but then he returned his attention once more to the odd device before him, trying valiantly to work out the odd little message displayed there, which involved tapping the glass of the box once more

"We've been over this before," a feminine, lightly accented voice chuckled, "it's not going to bite you."

That made him look up…and he tried to recognise the person in front of him.

Yes, the face was familiar, the voice too, but at the moment, the clothing the newcomer wore did nothing to help his memory.

One thing could be said of her outfit, it was elegant, if indecent for the amount of leg it showed, the black skirt coming to her knees, rather than to her ankles and her white blouse that surely cost the earth, for it looked to be silk, was open enough to show an expanse of neck and a sliver necklace, in some sort of knotted design.

"Miss Mercier?" he ventured finally.

That was it!

Sophie Mercier, Annabelle's roommate and best friend…she was French. Parisian, if memory served correctly, but had grown up in Montreal and was now working as a lady's companion.

Why would she be here in the station without Annabelle?

"Non, it is Père Noel," she answered, her tone containing more than a little sarcasm, but it was at least friendly, "and, as it happens, I have brought a present for a good boy" so saying she dropped a file onto his desk, "the lab results you wanted"

William blinked, looking from Sophie Mercier to the file she had just given him and back once more as it occurred to him that he did not know what purpose these 'results' served, nor why Sophie would be the one to deliver it to him.

However, as he was about to query this, Sophie spoke again

"How's your head? Does it hurt?" she asked, giving him a look of concern, "you are lucky the doctors didn't keep you in"

"What?" he blinked again, and subconsciously rubbed the back of his head, wincing slightly as he found a bump, "Yes…slightly when touched"

"William Murdoch, the big hero" Sophie chuckled in a tone that was far too affectionate and familiar sounding for simply being 'the inspector's niece's friend'

He decided to attempt the strange box again

"How do you make this contraption work?" he asked, giving the thing a sharp tap on the side. It went 'thump' and something went 'ping' inside

"Stop that," Sophie said, walking around the desk and leaning over him to get to the thing, pulling out part of his desk and typing into something that looked like the letter part of a typewriter; "It's not your enemy. Honestly, how many times does it make that you've forgotten your password this month? There"

A new message appeared on the glass, this one reading simply 'Welcome' before the picture changed and became something…more complex.

"…What do I do with it?" he asked, looking at Sophie since she seemed to have an understanding of the thing

"I told you to take that computing course last month, at least it'd stop you throwing your coffee mug at it when you make it screw up, but non. The Great Detective can make it work all by himself, hm?" she giggled gently and, shockingly and without apparent motive, kissed him on the cheek before she stood up straight once more.

"Miss Mercier-" he started, unable to work out why she'd done such a thing, but George chose that moment to reappear

"Sophie!" he said, "Henry said he saw you come in…did Anna text you?"

"Salut George," Sophie greeted, "And I don't have my phone with me. I left it in my office so if she has I haven't seen it. Why?"

William didn't miss the younger man's glance towards him and, apparently, neither did Sophie for she gave George a puzzled look.

"I'll be right back," she told him finally, before taking George's arm in a sisterly way and leading him outside. Through the glass wall of his office, he could see them speaking, George gesturing towards him every now and then, obviously explaining to the best of his capabilities and Sophie was nodding, taking it all in.

William leant on the desk and covered his face with his hands; resting his forehead against the strange 'kom-pewter' object and allowed a sigh to escape; he was rapidly finding that he wished this day were simply a strange dream

"_He's been bleeding quite badly…"_

"_How long before you found him…?"_

"_How's he doing…we brought you some tea…"_

"_Has anyone managed to track down his brother yet?"_

"_Can you hear me, William? William?"_

"Will?"

He blinked and found himself looking up at Annabelle

"Miss Whittering? What brings you here?"

"George forgot his lunch so I brought it to him…and as long as we're talking, do you think you can start calling me 'Anna' again please?"

"That would be most improper!"

"O-kay…look, I spoke to Uncle Tom on my way through, he wants a word with you about last night. Wants to know if you need time off or if you've at least been to A & E"

"The inspector wishes to see me?" he stood up, laid a hand on the desk to steady himself until the dizziness went away and ceased threatening to topple him

"In his office," she replied, following him out of the door and straight into George and Sophie, both of whom looked away guiltily, like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"The inspector wants to see me in his office?" the look he gave them clearly said he had no idea which way to go now.

"Go out the door and turn left," Sophie pointed towards a set of doors that were open slightly, leading the way out of the space outside of his own office that seemed to contain a set of desks, not too different to the layout of Station Four.

"Big office with lots of medals all over the place, poster that says 'Keep Calm and Carry On" on the wall, can't miss it," George added

William nodded and began to head off, leaving behind three extremely worried people.

* * *

"So…should we worry or let this slide too?" Annabelle asked, chewing her bottom lip as they watched Will's retreating back

"Worry slightly..." Sophie said slowly, "although. if he asks 'computer' like that again we're taking him to Sunnybrook for a psychological evaluation"

"I can't believe he's forgotten where Tom's office is, but it's like he's forgotten how to talk too"

"What do you mean he's forgotten how to talk, George?" Sophie wanted to know, sounding more than a little peeved, "this is the first you have told me of this since last night"

"Well, he doesn't say 'can't' anymore, he says 'Can not' and 'Will not'…you know, formal speak. I thought maybe he was just pronouncing clearly after the head injury. My aunt Buttercup says that it's good for concussed people to talk at length"

"And he keeps referring to my uncle as 'the inspector' instead of just 'Tom'" Anna interrupted before George could change the topic of conversation to his family again, (most of whom she hadn't met just yet) "and no-one's called me 'Miss Whittering' since I was in secondary school!"

"Mon dieu! I think we had better go over there!" so saying Sophie began to run towards Brackenreid's office with George and Anna hot on her heels, "Tom! Tom it's about Will!"

TBC

* * *

**_Author's Notes:_** _Want to once again thank my friend Sarah for letting me borrow her OC (Sophie Mercier), for helping me plan this story and, not least, letting me bounce my shoddy ideas off her head._

_Any questions about our OC's feel free to send me a PM and I'll answer as best I can._

_The radio station people are based off Real Radio Wales, who are so cheerful at 6am in the morning that I'm tempted to write in and tell them to cut it out. I much prefer Planet Rock UK, whose breakfast show is presented by the King of Shock Rock himself, Alice Cooper._


	3. Friends, Coffee and Family

_**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, I don't own it. Murdoch Mysteries belongs to Maureen Jennings, YTV and ALIBI_

* * *

Tom Brackenreid had barely opened his mouth to speak when Sophie, George and Annabelle rushed in together, Sophie yelling something about Will

"What's he done now?" he wanted to know, "shorted out the office? Caused the entire database to crash again? Locked himself and everyone else out of the intranet?"

The four of them stared at him, Will with confusion and the other three looking as if they were trying to work out how to break it to him.

"Well, come on then! Out with it! One of you!"

"Well, sir," George began, "his head injury was a bit worse than we thought and, um-"

"What George is trying to say, Uncle Tom," Anna stepped in, "is that it was maybe Will shouldn't be here right now?"

"Then why the bloody 'ell _**is**_ he here?" his tone when speaking to Anna was a lot softer than it would've been to George, but even so, there was steel in his voice, something that said he wouldn't take evasiveness in lieu of a proper answer

"He insisted," George told him meekly and unconsciously entwined his fingers with Anna's, giving them a squeeze for reassurance, "so we brought him here but um…"

"But it has since arisen within our minds that perhaps Will is not as recovered from his injury as he thought" Sophie put in smoothly, "perhaps it's wisest to give him a few days off?"

"I do not require any leave!" Will protested, and finally Sophie understood what George had meant by 'formal' "I am perfectly fine and I have evidence that could provide a lead in the current murder case"

Brackenreid looked at him, his expression expectant but clearly giving the message of _'this had better be good'_

"I believe I have a lead in the current murder case, a suspect at least"

"Oh really?" the inspector now looked interested, "and how'd you find this suspect? And who is it?"

"Sean O'Reily. Miss Whittering had a photograph of him on her desk at…at her abode" he was cautious about broaching the subject of George and Annabelle's odd living arrangement, lest it annoy the inspector.

"Anna?" Brackenreid now turned his attention, once more, to his niece, "what the 'ell are you doing with photographs of murder suspects hanging around on your desk?"

"Um, Tom…" George interjected gently, "I think that's something Will dreamed, which is why he needs time off. He's seeing things"

"I know what I saw," Will paused, he had seen them, hadn't he? But then they were gone and… "Perhaps," he said finally, "it's wisest that I take a leave of absence today"

Sophie nodded, "I think that's a good idea" she said, addressing Tom, "I'll drive him home if you find the paperwork for him to sign?"

"Alright," the inspector nodded back, "He's getting a week to sort his head out, if he's not right after that, I'm signing him up to see the psychologist. I want you three to keep an eye on him and I don't want you making up things to protect him because I don't want to see him back here until he's fit for work, understand?"

"Yes Sir!"

"Understood, Monsieur Brackenreid"

"OK, Uncle"

"Right," Tom nodded, "now get out of here, the lot of you…go on, out!"

* * *

Less than three minutes later, all three of them stood in the corridor outside the office

"…Coffee?" Sophie suggested, "then we'll take him home"

"Good idea" George nodded, "Anna, you don't have to be back at the office?"

"Working from home today, I was told not to come in until Thursday, when The Brothers come in to give a verdict on the designs"

"The brothers?" Will asked, blinking at her

"The Quay Brothers, pair of identical twins from Philadelphia, film makers. I haven't seen much of the story line for the production but they have specific ideas for what they want"

"The wings with ribbon in your sketch book" he said slowly

"Right," she nodded enthusiastically, "it's supposed to symbolise how the female lead's freedom is being restricted even as-"

"Anna, you're going into 'artist' mode, now stop it or I won't buy you a brownie at the coffee shop" George joked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, "we've heard this before"

"Oui," Sophie tapped her on the shoulder in mild reprimand, before taking Will's arm, "come along, we must put some caffeine back into the systems before we get you home"

"…home" he muttered gently.

* * *

When, exactly, had Toronto become so crowded? William found himself wondering, he was now sat at a round table with an odd pattern of cups somehow embedded into it's surface, a large mug of…something before him.

It smelt sweet and oddly bitter.

"What is this?" he asked Sophie, who was sat at his right

"What you always ask for, a double-decaff, triple-mocha coffee with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles," she informed him, raising an eyebrow as she raised her own mug to her lips, "I've never been able to understand how you can drink those" she said, taking a slow sip before she released a sigh of pleasure

"Probably explains why he had 2 cavities at his last dental check-up" Annabelle giggled gently, she didn't have a mug or a cup, until a few seconds later when George appeared and promptly placed a steaming mug of something and a medium sized cake on a small plate in front of her

"Sweets for my sweetie," he announced, flopping into the chair beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders

"Aww, cheesy line but said with feeling," Anna gave him a kiss on the cheek and leaned into the arm around her.

William promptly choked on the coffee he'd taken a sip of at the overt display of affection between the courting pair, Sophie companionably slapped him on the back until the coughing subsided.

"You two, PDA's, please" she said as his breathing returned to normal, "you promised to tone it down, you sickeningly happy lovebirds"

"Oh my...George, Anna...Really now." William finally managed to sputter, feeling more than a little scandalised "this is a public place! You must not act so shamefully!"

"…not like she French kissed me" George pointed out after a few moments of silence

"Not for a brownie, George," Anna answered dryly, "a lemon and poppy seed muffin on the other hand…"

"You two are giving me cavities," Sophie chuckled good-naturedly, "by the way George, terrible chat up line, I'm confiscating the cake," so saying she reached across the table and began to pull the small plate towards her

"Hey, that's my brownie!" her friend said with only a token protest, "all you had to do was ask if you wanted some"

"Fifty-Fifty?" the Parisian offered, still holding the plate with the confectionary item on it.

"Like our rent used to be back before we clawed our way up the respective ranks" Annabelle nodded, as George rolled his eyes before grabbing (gently) the plate away from Sophie

"Excuse me? Who paid for it?" he asked, in a lightly teasing tone, leaving William to wonder if George were hedging his bets and attempting to court both women, but then again, what woman would put up with that so openly?

"You bought it for Anna and I'm her best friend so I get to share it with her, with her say so"

"Thirds?" Anna suggested, and then paused, "can you split a square brownie into three?"

"If you cut it into Isosceles Triangles, maybe" George concluded doubtfully

"Let's not forget the injured party, Will should have some too"

"Somehow, quarter of a brownie doesn't seem worth it"

"Um…I am quite fine," Will said, taking a long drink of his coffee (it was infinitely more palatable now that it was filled with sweet things, unlike the bitter drink he recalled trying at the rowing club)

"And it keeps on amazing me how he drinks that without going into a sugar coma – maybe we should call the Guinness book of records?"

"I think it only counts as a record if he can drink 43 of them in 20 minutes without that happening"

"Speaking as someone who's been on stake-outs with him, I can confirm he's not too far off a record"

William wasn't too sure that he liked the burst of laughter that broke out at that comment, but it seemed to be good natured ribbing rather than at his expense, however, the dizziness and mild pain was making itself know and if he remembered correctly…

"Miss Mercier…" he paused, "Sophie, if you could please escort me home?"

"Is it your head again?" she asked, looking at him in concern

What could he do but nod?

"I really want to go home now" he told her tiredly

"Do you want to take your coffee with you?" Anna asked

"They'll allow me to take this cup?"

"We'll get it put into a take-out cup, no problem," George said, sharing a look with Sophie before raising a hand and beckoning a waiter over.

* * *

"Here we are," Sophie announced what seemed like only moments later, turning a key and gently opening the door.

The smell of the place was familiar…like polish and brass and plaster, but…it wasn't a single room, the way that he remembered. Now it was more like the apartment that George and Annabelle seemed to share.

"I…live here?" he asked finally, turning to Sophie, who nodded in affirmation, but it seemed impossible that all of this space could be his, even on a detective's salary.

Though the place did seem to be done up in his own tastes…all of this space was his?

"…What of Mrs Kitchen?" he asked, wondering if at any moment his landlady would appear.

"Probably at the hospital with her husband, poor man. I wouldn't wish cancer on my worst enemy"

Cancer? But hadn't Mr Kitchen died of Consumption?

He would have voiced this opinion, but something on a shelf caught his eye

"My microscope…" he muttered to himself and wandered over, quite forgetting, for the moment, that Sophie Mercier was there and thus did not see her more than mildly worried look.

As it turned out, it was not just his microscope that was on the shelf in this room, the majority of his forensic and scientific equipment seemed to be here also, he wondered why it should be so, why all of these things were not on his desk in his office at the station and did not realise he had voiced this aloud until Sophie's voice broke into his thoughts

"Because Tom said he didn't want your collection taking up space and gathering dust there"

"Collection? I collect scientific equipment?"

Sophie gave him a look, which made him feel uncomfortable a few seconds later

"Look, go and sit down" she said finally, "I will make you some tea and then, I think, I'll phone your mother"

She vanished before he could react, and so he found himself sitting on a sofa that was almost as comfortable as the one at George and Annabelle's apartment.

He did like this chocolate coloured leather though.

Something Sophie had said just a moment ago presented itself for consideration.

She was going to call his mother…

…His mother was still alive?

* * *

**Author's Note:** Yes, I couldn't resist putting William's mother in here. I felt the poor woman deserved a reality where she hadn't died of a head wound.

Also, I know that Mr Kitchen isn't even mentioned in the show, but he is present in the books…dying of TB. Poor Mrs Kitchen does everything possible to keep him alive and cure his TB (up to and including making him drink seven glasses of warm water). I grew quite fond of Mr Kitchen after he gave William some advice for curing insomnia, basically telling him that there was "no better cure than a roll in the hay with the love of your life".

Since we vaccinate against TB now, I decided for the modern era, Mr Kitchen has cancer (it's nothing personal! I love him really! And hey, he's a fighter, I'll write him being in remission at some point)


End file.
